Page 57 of The Pawn

Tanner laughs. "It's just a little mud."

"You always take this shit too far, all because you think your daddy's something special." He shoves Tanner in the shoulders, who just stumbles back confidently, a smirk on his lips. But then the blond boy says, "You act all high and mighty, but we all know the truth. You're nothing but an unwanted bastard."

The expression on Tanner's face changes. Confidence and mischievousness turns to rage. He grabs the blond boy by the shoulders and punches him.

Again and again.

Over and over.

Until he has to be pulled off the boy, who is bloody and unconscious on the ground.

The video stops on a still of his face, beaten and bruised. It's the thumbnail I pick for my posts to Legacies, using the hashtag for George Connally's recent presidential bid announcement.

Let's see who goes viral first.

* * *

I'm in my Calculus I class on Monday, struggling through the work Ms. Saint has assigned us, when an unusual noise filters in through the windows.

Thwap thwap thwap.

Students get up out of their desks and rush to the windows, curious, as a helicopter lands in the grass of the Gladius Outdoor Space. Ms. Saint calls them back to the chairs, chiding them.

I glance over at Blake, who isn't even looking out the window at the helicopter. He runs a hand through his hair, which is more mussed than usual, eyes on his laptop.

"You're not curious about what that is?" I ask him, poking at him despite the fact that I know he's a tiger at rest, dangerous when provoked.

"I know what it is: Tanner's dad come to collect him. He's not thrilled with some of his recent behavior." He looks over at me, his deep brown eyes taking me in passionlessly. "Don't tell me that you didn't see it. The story is all the rage."

"I saw it," I admit, because claiming otherwise would be suspicious. "Your friend sent that boy to the hospital."

"Exactly. So his dad is here to show him how to throw a punch." Leaning close, Blake murmurs to me, "You should probably stop gossiping and pay attention to the teacher, Brenna. After all, it's not like you're acing this class. You wouldn't want to fail and have to drop out."

Gritting my teeth, I take his advice against my better judgment. He has a point; I'm barely surviving this class, and that's being generous. About the only chance I have of reaching my goals is if I manage to take down all the Elites before I fail out.

* * *

"I was thinking that our presentation would go better if we focus on... Brenna, are you paying attention to me?"

Looking into Lukas's bright blue eyes, I admit, "Not really."

"Why?" He puffs out a frustrated little sigh, leaning back in his chair. "You've been moving back this meeting for weeks. Our presentation is due in just a couple of weeks. We still have hours of research to do, and then we have to practice. There isn't time to waste."

"We're in Carthage Library," I point out. "You do the research. I'll be turning in my own paper."

"The presentation is twenty percent of our score."

"And you're sure to sabotage it." I glare at him. "Blake got rid of my calculus paper. Cole has been messing with my art assignments for weeks. There's no way you're not planning something, too. So I figure I won't waste any of my time and effort on our presentation when I've got so much other studying to do. But I'll gladly watch you research diligently on your own."

Those blond brows of his raise halfway to his forehead. "You're nearly as frustrating as Cole. Not everyone is out to get you, Brenna."

Thinking of what I've been through since I came here to Coleridge, I challenge him, "Aren't they? I nearly snapped my neck during that rock climbing trip."

"Which I told you I had nothing to do with."

"There was a snake in my laptop bag after Visual Arts class a few weeks back." He goes silent at this. "Any idea who might've put it there? I think we both know who, so don't answer that question. He's been trying to drive me away from this school, force me to drop out. Tanner admitted as much. Blake has been joining in when it suits him. Why in the world should I believe you won't do something, too?"

"Because I haven't done anything to you yet." He leans forward, voice soft. "We've had this class together every day since the start of the semester. Don't you think I would've done something by now if I had some kind of devious plan up my sleeves?"

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